A Nearly Perfect Copy - By Allison Amend Page 0,83

gratification. She had thought marriage would fulfill some of these needs, emotional as well as sexual, that having a permanent partner would end her loneliness, her frustration, her anxiety. But no, she often had to wait as long for release as when she was single, when she waited for her girlfriends to get off work so they could meet for a drink, spend the evening identifying then flirting with a stranger, making out with him outside the bar before giving him a fake number and slipping away in a taxi.

He came to her smelling of soap and shampoo, and a little like deodorant, a bouquet of artificial scents. She surprised herself by attacking him. Usually, their morning lovemaking was leisurely and half-asleep. He typically started it, and often she could catch a few more minutes of shut-eye afterward. Not so this morning. She bit his ears, held his arms down while she straddled him, then insisted on a position they didn’t normally use.

Afterward, she pulled the sheet around her. It was still early. Moira wouldn’t stir for another thirty minutes. She felt better—less frustrated, but still anxious.

“Now you’ll tell me,” she said.

“What?” he asked. He was dozing again, his eyes half-closed.

“What was bothering you yesterday.”

“Oh,” he said. “Al resigned.”

“What?” Elm was shocked. Al had been Colin’s boss for ten years. He had been at the company for nearly twenty.

“He just quit?” she asked.

“Pretty much,” Colin said, stretching. “He said he didn’t want to work under that admin.”

“That’s insane,” Elm said. She twisted around to face Colin. “What’s he going to do?”

Colin said, “Fuck if I know. His noncompete clause means he won’t be working in the pharmaceutical industry, at least.” Colin closed his eyes again, avoiding looking at her.

“Colin,” Elm said. “What does that mean for you?”

“I”—he paused—“no longer have an advocate. Which means that possibly I no longer have a job.”

“What?”

“Or, maybe they’ll promote me. I can’t really say at the moment.”

“How can you be so …” Elm searched for the right word. “Nonchalant? This is your future. You have a noncompete agreement too.”

“I’m not in a tizzy, Cabbage, because it’s not something I have any control over at the moment.”

“What do you mean? Don’t call me Cabbage. I hate vegetable endearments. We need to plan or something. Did Al really resign? For good? Irreparably?”

“Afraid so. Elm, we just have to wait. Don’t you think I’m bloody worried too?”

Elm’s secret chafed like an itch, like an inflammation of the conscience. This would be the time to tell Colin. She could pretend she was joking, see what his reaction would be. And then he would stop her, because, of course, someone needed to talk her out of this insanity. Because she was thinking about it as something she’d already done. Or rather, something that the person who was inside her body had done. She felt so removed from herself that her hands were things of wonder, her knees foreign.

She should tell him now. Now, she urged herself. But it would be so easy to pretend that she hadn’t purposely stopped taking the pill, that it had simply failed. And then they wouldn’t have to have that conversation, the one where he voiced all the nagging worries she was pushing down into her subconscious, the uncomfortable distance that arose whenever they talked about Ronan, like the topic was a furnace grate that blasted hot air when opened.

Colin was already out of bed and in his boxers. “I’ll get Moira up for school,” he said.

Relay Lacker operated her art-consulting business from a small office in Midtown, but suggested an upscale restaurant near Tinsley’s on the Upper East Side when Elm invited her to lunch.

Elm ordered the least stomach-turning thing on the menu, but even as her Cobb salad arrived she knew she wouldn’t be able to eat it. She pushed it around with her fork while they made small talk.

“So,” Elm said, hiding half of an egg under a large piece of lettuce where it wouldn’t stare at her. “I’ve asked you to lunch because I would like to discuss some business.”

“I’m all ears,” Relay said. She smiled, and Elm caught just a glimpse of a gap between her teeth and gums. She’d had porcelain veneers put on. Elm didn’t know anyone who had done that, and she wanted to ask her about it, but it didn’t seem appropriate.

“I have available these drawings for sale, really beautiful pieces. A Piranesi, two Canalettos, a couple of Connoises, Ganedis, or at least from their